Diary of a Weather Witch
by Spankbending
Summary: A series of Storm related spanking fics, in Diary Format. Set in the same universe as Papa Wolf.


**May 16, 1988**

Got a long overdue call from Charles this afternoon. He seems to be in good health, which is a nice surprise for a man who's now on the wrong side of fifty and confined to a wheelchair. Such a tragedy; perhaps the greatest mind of our time and hero many times over, crippled like that. Can't forgive Magnus...not sure I ever will. Whatever happened to the X-Men?

Violets doing well, but my florist sold me a bad batch of forget me nots. Have to buy more...

**May 17, 1988**

Can't stop thinking about the old days. Charles, Hank, Sean...haven't seen them in so long. And of course Logan...but then nobody has seen or heard from him in years. Note since Yoshiro left us and officially put an end to the X-Men. Not that the second generation lasted long. John Proudstar died on our second mission, the poor, brave fool. At least Betsy and I still keep in touch – she always was my favorite student.

I often miss those days. Who would have imagined the Rain Goddess of the Serengeti, and Storm, mutant mistress of the elements, who battled Juggernauts and living islands, would now simply be Ororo Munroe, teaching art classes at a suburban Chicago middle school? Not that I'm unhappy or anything, and I certainly don't miss that terrible outfit. No wonder Hank and Logan gave me so many looks ten years ago! So tacky. Ah, to be a teenager again, all the raging hormones and utter silliness.

But...I do miss being a hero. In this city, it's hard to feel like I really make a difference anymore.

**May 21, 1988**

Florist refunded my forget me nots. Pleasant surprise, but not the most shocking of the day!

I couldn't help myself; I dragged my old uniform out of the closet and I'm wearing it now as I speak. I felt positively ridiculous when I had it in my hands; a black two-piece ensemble tied together with a gold ring highlighting my navel. Clearly had my mind in the gutter when I came up with it. It was a bit of a tight fit, but there's something...nice, about wearing it. Like I'm home again. Probably nostalgia.

I could have died laughing at the other accessories. The old lightning motif choker and metal bracelets to hold my gaudy cape, the earrings, the ponytail holder. Hard to believe I was ever this trashy. And the thigh-high black boots with stiletto heels! Heavens, I look like a dominatrix in this thing!

On the plus side, my legs and butt still look good in them. Always were my best features, even if I'm too dignified to show them off anymore. All this X-Men business, costumed kids going around to save the world...what utter nonsense when I think about it. We were young and stupid. I grew up, move on.

Yet, here I am in this preposterous outfit, and the strangest thing is I feel empowered, confidant, and even, dare I say it, sexy. Not beautiful and classy, like I go for these days. Sexy. Naughty even. If only I had a hot date for tonight...but alas. I guess it's time to bust out the battery-operated boyfriend that Betsy sent me for my birthday last year.

**May 24, 1988**

Absolutely horrible day today. Student with a gun. Had to use powers to save self and others. Successful at that, but shunned by my fellow teachers. Students afraid to look at me.

Not sure I can sleep. Can't write. Going to bed.

**May 25, 1988**

Cried myself to sleep last night. Woke up at 7 a.m. Phone call from work, told to take the day off. I'm terrified; for almost a year I've been able to keep hidden. It's days like this I hate being a mutant. Why do other, _normal _people have to hate us so much? I didn't do anything wrong! I protected innocent children! I was a hero, God dammit! And everyone treats me the same as the gunner.

Heavy showers all day. Not surprised. Can't stop crying. Ate a whole bowl of chocolate ice cream that I'm probably gonna regret later. I hope I'm getting myself worked up over nothing. Maybe this is all a bad dream. Have to pull myself together.

**May 26, 1988**

Fired from work. Burned old costume. Nothing but painful memories.

**June 12, 1988**

First good news in a couple weeks. Betsy is visiting me from England for my twenty-ninth birthday! Finally, something to be excited about! I've missed that kid so much. It will be wonderful to have a familiar face around. Catch up on old times, get some coffee, maybe screw around a bit. Could definitely use some relaxation after what I've gone through.

It feels good to be writing again. Being fired really killed my passion for a little while. I got really angry and went to a bar to unwind. Slept with the cute bartender, had a good night but didn't leave my number. Just needed to work out my frustrations. Thank God for condoms.

Started offering piano lessons so I can pay the rent on my apartment. Haven't had any luck getting a more permanent job; every other school seems to be well staffed. Not sure how long I'll last in this town.

**June 16, 1988**

Finally called Charles and told him about what happened at my job. Probably should have done that earlier; he always knows what to say to make me feel better. It's not the end of the world, I'm talented and there will always be new opportunities if I seek them out. God bless him, Charles may be the kindest man in the world as well as the most brilliant.

I guess I was just in denial for a while. I've always been strong and independent; I don't need anybody's help dealing with my problems. Or so I tell myself. The downside of being independent is that it's usually lonely.

**June 18, 1988**

And now I went and told Betsy everything. Oh she was downright furious with me. "Ororo, how could you not tell me about that, Old Girl?" She always calls me that when she's condescending. I don't why she's so upset about me keeping it to myself, but she seems to think I need comfort and support...I guess she's probably right about that. Oh, I'm just so frustrated with myself I could cry.

**June 25, 1988**

Picked up Betsy from the airport and had a nice lunch. It was so good to speak to her in person instead of over the phone, to see her eyes and her smile and her infectious laugh. There wasn't much to catch up on, what with our regular calls, but it was still very nice. It's amazing how much she's grown since I first saw her at fifteen. I was younger than she is now back then.

One thing I don't miss is her telepathy. Unlike Charles, Betsy has a tendency to be invasive when I try to brush off things. When she asks how I'm doing and I say "I'm fine," she tells me how said and afraid I really am. It's infuriating, not being able to act tough in front of her. But then she pats my shoulder and promises that everything will be alright. Maybe it's not so bad after all.

She also promised to give me a rather sound birthday spanking. Easy to say that sort of thing in public when you're a telepath: I was blushing so brightly and felt as if everyone heard, even though I know she wouldn't. It seems she's been doing a gig as a dominatrix to help pay off her college debt. "It's easy as hell when you can tell exactly what those naughty chaps are craving," she explained. "But I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for you."

I remember that awkward conversation after I first spanked her for sneaking out with a boy when she was 17. When she read my mind and realized that whenever I punished one of the girls at school, or heaven forbid if I saw Logan punish them, I would always imagine it was me being punished. And then she turned 18 and the tables turned, and once a week she gave me just what I wanted. Just one more thing I miss about living at the Xavier Mansion.

Betsy tells me she brought a cane with her that's she's grown quite good at using. I'm positively horrified to feel that against my skin, but also eagerly anticipating it. It has been far too long.

**June 27, 1988**

I usually write sitting down at my desk, but today I'm laying down on my bed because my bottom is very sore and I prefer to keep it safely off of any surface. Betsy is sleeping quietly next to me, and it has been a very lovely two days spent with her. I'm now 29, and thanks to her I am unlikely to forget that number for a long time to come.

I cannot express the ominous feeling I got when Betsy locked my apartment door and told me to sit on my bed. She is so calm when we play this game, as if my obedience isn't an option but an inevitability. And she may be right. Sitting down on my mattress, I bit my lower lip nervously, excited but still afraid. Betsy walked over to the window across from my bed and raised the blinds. Watching the weather was one of her favorite parts about punishing her old teacher.

At her instruction I removed all but the overly long white nightie and a bright pink of panties. Then she sat down, a wooden hairbrush in her hand. Always liked hairbrushes more than paddles. I was beckoned to lay over her lap and did so willingly, my arms clutching a pillow. Betsy giggled at the childish attempt for comfort. She gently rubbed my bottom, her hand gliding over it like a hawk about to devour it's prey.

"It has been far too long since we've done this, 'Ro, old girl," she told me. My face flushed and I nodded. "Surely you wouldn't begrudge me a warm up before your official punishment, would you?" I shook my head aggressively, craving my spanking and eager to get on with it! But yearning does make everything better when it happens, and this was no different!

Her hand, so gentle a second ago, came down firmly upon my right cheek, and after a reactionary yelp I moaned my pleasure. She swatted me in a steady, even rhythm, one cheek and then the other, playing me like a fiddle. My bottom stung sharply with each swat, making me whimper. But the fire grew warmer as her firm hand punished my soft cheeks, and I was practically purring with pleasure. Oh it had been far too long indeed! When I looked out the window, black clouds had gathered and a light rain began, excitement and joy mixed with pain and helplessness.

After each side of my seat had tasted the searing kiss of her hand 29 times, she popped them even harder one last time. "One more to grown on, that's how we do it!" she teased even as the rain began to pour down harder. I hissed at each swat and panted appreciatively, knowing the real spanking was about to begin. But first, down went my panties, sliding down my sore cheeks and past my legs and resting soundly at my knees. I love the sense of anticipation the act of having my panties lowered creates in me, whether it's for this or any other reason."Time for the brush, I think. 20 a cheek. A mild implement for your child years."

Mild indeed! The brush was as unforgiving as I remember it being, a solid piece of wood that gave no quarter to my hindquarters! Hand swats are lovely, but the hairbrush is something I can only appreciate twenty minutes later when the burning fire settles into a dull kindling that warms my heart. Her hand never produces that kind of long-lasting sensation, so now I'm grateful for it. But how I wiggled and bucked and sobbed when she chastised me. Forty stinging smacks that left my bottom a deep rust color.

Then came the most terrifying part. I was told my that my cheeks would receiver their last ten swats at the same time, from the cane. She removed me from her lap, took the pillow from my hands and sat it on the edge of the bed. "Lay over that and keep your bottom nice and high for me, love," she instructed, and I obeyed, though not without hesitation. A lump grew in my throat as she pulled out the cane, showing me for the first time the instrument of my doom. It was at least two and a half feet long, thin but rounded, and bended in the air as she gave a few practice swings.

Betsy came closer and gently prodded my legs further apart with the cane; I could feel the wood against my skin and could already imagine it's sting. My bottom was just now beginning to cool down into a pleasurable warmth, but as she pressed the rod against my tender cheeks, I could tell that would not last. For a split second there was nothing where there had once been terrifying pressure. I winced and tightened my butt muscles.

And then Betsy swung her arm. I barely heard the SWISH! of the cane cutting through the air, but I definitely heard the CRACK! of it connecting severely against my rear end. I gasped in shock. The sensation rippled past my bottom and through my body. My toes stiffened from the pain, which escaped my lungs as a loud wail. I could hear the winds outside my window grow in fury even as I awaited the next swing dutifully.

Each new stroke made me scream fiercely, and by the third I was sobbing uncontrollably. Each CRACK! of the cane was accented by the crack of thunder as lightning rippled through the storm. I had never known such sheer, penetrating agony as that cane. And the tenth, my "one to grown on," was by far the worst of them all. I had thought she'd been using all her strength, but that last one showed me how very wrong I was! It left me a blubbering, incoherent mess of wails and tears. I cried my eyes out, and the sky cried with me.

I realize now that I've been needing to cry for a while. Everything that's happened to me in the last several weeks...I've been holding it inside. Been holding it inside, needed to let it go. And the relentless, uncaring cane broke me and forced me to cry. Somehow, I think Betsy knew exactly what I needed she decided to add such a wicked thing to my usually fun birthday spanking.

Afterwards, she held me over her lap for several minutes, rubbing a soothing lotion into my sore, throbbing buttom cheeks as I dried my own on my blankets. As I grew further removed from my spanking, my sobs subsided and I began to enjoy the burn. I certainly do not look forward to being caned again, but on this night, I am grateful for it.

It is late, and while it was important to write this down so I can relive it later, I am losing the battle with my eyelids.

**June 28, 1988**

Woke up to a very unexpected phone call from Charles. Even more expected was why. It seems the Xavier School for the Gifted is being re-opened, and they are in desperate need of teachers. It seems I have a job offer waiting for me. Hank has already accepted a position.

I told Charles I would consider his offer, as the idea of going back there seemed very rough. But as I took Betsy to the airport and waved "Cheerio!" to my friend, I realized I wanted more than anything to see my old team mates again. To teach new students and watch them grow into fine men and women like Betsy.

My path is clear. I studied to be a teacher so I could be a positive force in the world. And nobody needs that more than young, impressionable and powerful mutants.

Storm shall fly again.

_Coming next chapter: Storm's return to the Xavier Mansion, meeting the new students, and Dazzler gets her attitude adjusted in front of everyone!_


End file.
